New Empire
by Chamomile Pool
Summary: Hypothetical scenario in which the survival game was won by the Diary user who started it all. 11th John one-shot


A gold-trimmed, red-cushioned seat was in the center of the room. This was the seat of power, the Greek _Dios thronous_, occupied by the sole sovereign. King John's spectacles reflected the light that entered through the great stained glass window well above the room's entrance. On this stained glass was a depiction of the fallen Deus, reaching his hand down to the mortal John, in a total transference of authority.

While sitting here, John felt almost himself. It was a fair bit paradoxical; the very seat that indicated more than anything else his reign and responsibilities therein was also the place where he was most able to forget the aches of godhood. He rubbed his forehead, a few inches below where a tiny crown was tightly hugging the top of his head. The crown had twelve unique jewels encrusted within its gold frame: a sequence of sapphire, topaz, diamond, emerald, red opal, turquoise, garnet, aquamarine, pearl, ruby, peridot, and amethyst.

King John's royal robe was appropriately royal blue, and peeking underneath the collar was his red cravat. His gaze was downcast, settling upon Murumuru, who was busying herself with a game of checkers. She was lying on her stomach, kicking her legs leisurely back and forth, one after the other. Under his watch, she would make a move and then roll herself over to the other side of the board. There, she would make an equally stunning move against herself.

"I have always thought that chess is a superior game," King John said. He folded his hands together and, with a slight lean forward, let his chin rest on his knuckles.

Murumuru shrugged from her spot on the stone floor. "It's too confusing. Checkers can be just as tough!" She heaved a good sigh and then, with genuine frustration, furrowed her brows into a fierce competitive look. "Especially against such a tough opponent…"

As she rolled herself to the other side, the King lifted his chin from his knuckles and turned it gently aside. With his cheek resting against his hands, he looked over at a painting on the wall. It depicted two adults, a man and a woman, each holding a shoulder of the black haired boy who stood between them. It was the Amano portrait.

His eyes gently closed. He recalled in brief how, shortly after he had attained his status as the God of Time and Space, he had gathered together the greatest artists in the world for the sake of recreating the original Diary holders and those they held dear. These eleven paintings were evenly spaced along the four walls of the throne room, with Yukiteru's just to the right of the door. To the left of the door, Yomotsu Hirasaka was immortalized through art.

Truthfully, he had given no real thought to the notion of trying to bring any of them back to life with his new powers. Their physical presence in this world was of no value to him. The purpose these paintings served was to constantly remind him of the data he collected from these original _samples_, so that he could not forget all the valuable information on human behavior he had gleaned from the other contenders. When he looked on at each visage, he saw their hope, anger, fears, love, and the dreams for which they were willing to not only give up their own lives but take the lives of others as well.

"Excuse me, your Highness."

At the door was Ryuji Kurosaki, the royal advisor. He was an able courtier who transitioned seamlessly into his role in the new world, so well in fact that it seemed ludicrous that at one time he was a mere office secretary. Ryuji wore an extravagant, snug white doublet with zaffre trimming, tights, and brown boot crackowes.

"My Diary informed me that in four minutes you would be requesting food, and so I decided to arrive with it a little early," Ryuji explained. "This way, you would have it before you would even need to feel hungry."

In the advisor's hands was a silver platter, on which was a small loaf of black rye and a glass of Valpolicella wine. He stepped over Murumuru's chess board, which caused the little demon to rise and complain. Neither the King nor his advisor paid any real heed to her furor, and so it was short lived. Murumuru went back to the floor, but instead of going back to her game, she watched her superior closely.

Ryuji bent into a slight bow as he passed the platter into John's hands. "Is there anything else you desire, your Highness?"

It was a silly question. The Secretary Diary would have told Ryuji if there really was anything else. It did not exactly read his mind, but as it hinted at every future action the King would make, there was little it was not capable of gleaning. "No, that will be quite enough, thank you," the King answered. "Thank you."

Ryuji bowed his head and then turned once more. He looked down at Murumuru for a moment. The latter snarled at him, and the former mocked her with a smirk. He headed back toward the door, shortly on his way, stepping on her game.

"Oh, my apologies!" Ryuji called, as he kept walking. He turned his head back. "That must be most unfortunate. It looked as though the game was getting somewhere and was about to conclude. I had best be getting on my way, before I cause any more trouble." He looked back, to watch Murumuru pick up the pieces in a scurry.

"Wait!"

The King had one hand up, while the platter rested on his legs.

"I do have one more request."

Ryuji's eyes moved from Murumuru to the King. "Yes, your Highness?"

John answered, "I would like to not be disturbed for the net hour. I have my Diary on silent, as you well know, but I also want you to bring me no visitors. Bring me no diplomats seeking favors. This goes for yourself as well; let no one in here."

Ryuji gave a slow, accepting nod. "Shall I escort the… the other occupant of this room away, as well?"

"No, no," John said, clearing his throat. "I would like Murumuru to stay. Hers is the only company I seek right now. Now, I bid you away."

With a certain pallor to his face, the royal advisor looked once more toward Murumuru, who was sticking her tongue at him and waving her hands. His expression nulled. "Very well, your highness," he said, submitting, before leaving. The sound of the door being closed hung in the air for a moment.

It was now just King John, Murumuru, the twelve paintings, and the stained glass image above the door. He could scarcely recall how long it had been since he had truly been this alone. It was a beautiful feeling, to feel alone. It was a wonderful sound, to hear nothing at all.

Murumuru was looking up at him, in obvious expectation. This was not a usual order for the King to give. She had been treated usually with mild annoyance by him, but now he was showing such peculiar favor to her that she knew he was about to say something that was for her ears only. He may have asked not to be shown anyone asking for favors, but that did not mean he was necessarily not going to ask for any himself.

"Murumuru, are you familiar with the traditions of the people you observed?" John asked, slowly, as though tasting each word. "You see, there is a certain Christian tradition… and by no means was I ever a regular church-goer, I was too busy of a man, but…" He smiled and glanced down at his platter. "This reminds me of the Holy Supper, too much for me not to make the comparison."

Murumuru sat cross-legged by the chess board.

"This bread is my body," John said, lifting up the loaf of black rye. He set it down and then took hold of the knife. He cut it swiftly and with precision. Then he held up a piece in his hand. "Which is for the world."

He raised the glass next. "This wine is the new empire in my blood." He sipped for a while, before setting it down, and smiling. "Do you think, Murumuru, that as they walk this earth, they walk in remembrance of me?"

No time was given for her to answer. "Do you think that they realize what I have given up, for their sakes? Do they know what it means, that I gave up my humanity so that they may become new, higher beings?"

"I have given my flesh and blood for the world," John continued, as Murumuru began to shrink beneath him. "But they are always needy, and even this seems not to be enough. Without a clear guide, they are chaotic as ever. Murumuru, you know that men live not on bread alone— but why do they still need, after all I've given them? They have no right to not be happy, at this stage of their evolution."

A chance was given for Murumuru to speak. "Did you really think you could change human nature that much?"

"Of course, I am God!" The light from the stained glass window reflected off his spectacles. "I have done for them what Deus never did. I have given them attention, tended to their problems, and most of all, I have brought along a new age of mankind: I have completed my original mission, of transferring divine power to every man in the world. With these Future Diaries, each person has access to constant updates on that one thing which matters most to him. The lover knows always where his love will be, to keep her safe. The materialist will always know the most profitable path. I have given them everything they need, but they insist on disorder!"

"You're seeing that instead of making everyone happy, the Diaries are bringing out the worse parts of human nature," Murumuru commented. "Instead of becoming more virtuous, they are going to become more wicked. I could've told you that from the beginning! Look at those people you had painted in this room— or, better yet, consider yourself."

John had never known Murumuru to be so serious. Truthfully, she had always seemed like a total blockhead to him, but now he was giving real consideration to her words. His power had driven him to this point; he was now clinging on to any morsel of his humanity left. All the constant requirements made of him made him want to shut himself up in the throne room. He had dismissed Ryuji with the request of leaving him be for an hour, but he really wanted to be left alone for far longer than that.

"It was almost inevitable that you were going to win," Murumuru said, changing the topic. "There was a 91.02% chance, from the start. You had all the resources available and were willing to do anything to win. Now look at yourself! You did everything you could to win, and now you act like it was not worth it! Make up your mind!"

The King sighed. "Maybe I was willing to do too much," he said, quietly. "It is a shame that 8th had to die. I nudged her as a target. I called for the destruction of her home and the home of her orphans. I did that, because I assumed that if I won, I could create a better world for those children she raised."

He could see Murumuru's skepticism. "Perhaps that was not the goal at the forefront," John explained, "But I knew human nature well… I wanted to change how adults always were willing to hurt each other. I wanted to end the fighting in the most logical way: by giving people what they had been fighting about. If everyone were happy and could have access to what they want, why would there be violence in the world?"

"But now I have a computer instead of 8th," he reflected. "I have a super computer pumping out Apprentice Diaries, which are being used in ways I never intended. I have considered an executive order that would disable Diaries of those with a criminal record, but that ignores the threat continuing to present itself: the power is being abused on a much broader scale." He glanced toward the portrait of Kurusu Keigo.

"I was too intoxicated by power to realize the damage these Diaries might do," John said, looking toward Murumuru. "I need to find a way to right this, before it gets more out of hand. I need to—"

The door was flung open. Ryuji stood at the entrance, breathing heavily. "Your Highness! Your Highness! Come quickly!" He held the door open with his outstretched hand; from behind him, smoke was entering the throne room.

King John rose with a start, knocking the platter to the floor. The wine spilled at his feet, and the loaf of bread landed with a thud next to Murumuru. "What is the meaning of this?" He adjusted his spectacles. "I instructed you not to—"

"We are being attacked!" Ryuji interrupted, tremors in his voice. "The Castle, the Castle is being attacked from the skies… The men aboard are readying the canons to launch a counterattack, but we need your—"

The advisor was stopped by the King's laughter. John was bent forward slightly, grinning from ear to ear. "Let them attack!" He shot a fierce glance over toward Ryuji. "I am God. They cannot hurt me. Nothing they can do can destroy me."

"B-but!" Ryuji was flustered. "But they can still destroy us, and everyone here in the castle! There are hundreds of your servants, generals, and diplomats here, requiring your orders for protection!"

John crossed his arms. "It is because of this you suffer… Hmmm…"

Ryuji was visibly puzzled, but John was too far gone in thought to notice.

"Then, perhaps I had it wrong…" He closed his eyes. "Happiness is not in having what you want, but in having total security… Then men do not need Future Diaries, but they need to be more like me… I need to make them in my image…"

Ryuji was about to say something, but he was gunned down at the door. The body slumped forward, and from where it just stood, men in masks came flooding in, each a soldier in black. One of them dumped a barrel of gasoline into the room, and another lit it with a torch. The fire melted the paintings, until the smoldering works looked too deformed to be recognizable likenesses of the Diary users.

But King John stood still. Murumuru clung to his leg, and King John let the bullets repel off his body. "Futile," he murmured. "All futile… Everything that you do, is futile… Because I alone am _Übermensch_. I will destroy you, mold you as clay, and make you in my image… And eventually, I will give you no choice but to be happy and to obey… Order will reign."


End file.
